


clipped wings, i was a broken thing

by kathleenfergie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5B AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Underworld (Once Upon a Time), References to Depression, Season/Series 05, Triggers, Unplanned Pregnancy, esp killian and emma, nobody is happy i'm really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma vomits at four a.m. from the intensity of her panic attacks and Killian bites his fist to keep from screaming. </p><p>It goes on like this for weeks.</p><p>(5b Canon Divergence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	clipped wings, i was a broken thing

**Author's Note:**

> rumple is dead pls fight me if u think he should live through this arc
> 
> this is basically Everyone Is Sad after coming back from the underworld. mainly focuses on emma through killian, as she deals with intense PTSD after being the dark one and going into hell to get Killian. talks about a lot of sensitive shit so either pls don't read if you don't want to be triggered by depression, ptsd, self harm, or violence. stay safe my friends. 
> 
> i don't really want to talk about the Underworld trip itself because a lot of people are writing speculation on it, but like it will be hinted at that basically emma and killian went through fucked up shit for each other. 
> 
> title is from bird set free by sia.
> 
> don't own anything. im sad

After the underworld, after it bears down hard on the heroes of Storybrooke, there is a silence that falls on the town. Regina is reminded of her curse, when all there seemed to be was the silence of her comatose victims and the unrelenting screams of a newborn. Snow spends each night sobbing on the couch, baby at her breast while David attempts to keep up his sheriff charade. Henry sleeps too often, door closed and blinds blocking out the sunlight.

Killian does not know quite who he is anymore, or who he is _supposed_ to be, rather. He goes to bed early, the sun still setting as his eyes droop. He is exhausted, body all too wrong, too alive. He looks out into the sky and catalogues unfamiliar stars, a small notebook kept on the desk beside his telescope.

He watches his ship bob on the harbour and longs, not for the first time, for the unending seas of Neverland. There, even with Pan’s nightmarish presence, years passed hazily, Killian emptying his soul and filling every void with rage. In Storybrooke there is a tiredness he has never known and it is far too much work for him to hate anyone.

Least of all, Emma, who lives a half life with half a heart, ghosting through their picturesque house. She’s almost as pale now as she was as the Dark One, her skin transparent and cheeks hollow. It has been mere days since they emerged from that black lake and she is so fragile that Killian fears touching her at night in their bed, centimetres apart.

The weight of the last fourteen weeks sits on her chest and it is so hard to breathe some days that Emma collapses in gasps at the foot of the stairs, hand palming her heart. Killian is there in seconds, his telescope discarded, to kneel and scoop her small body into his arms, carrying her to the couch. He wraps himself around her and goes through the breathing exercises Archie recommended.

They have only gone to see the psychiatrist once since hell and both former Dark Ones find difficulty in telling the squirrely man what is warring inside of them.

Emma is all guilt all the time, and Killian feels too empty and yet also too full. Emma vomits at four a.m. from the intensity of her panic attacks and Killian bites his fist to keep from screaming. It goes on like this for weeks. He finds her on the floor of the bathroom in the mornings, lying there silently with a picture of henry clutched to her chest. She can’t sleep at night anymore, afraid of the dark, and can’t slow down enough to sleep during the day.

The bags under her eyes grow with each minute and she faints too often, from exhaustion, from her empty stomach. Killian can’t get her to eat more than once a day and even then he has to sit right next to her and hold one hand, whispering words of encouragement. They do breathing exercises so that she does not vomit it back up moments later.

He has to turn away her parents when they come to the door because she screams when their visits are over. She just keeps screaming and Killian doesn’t know what to do. He suggests going to see Whale, have him check them over after all that happened to them, but Emma sobs if she sets one foot outside the door, collapsing into him.

He can’t keep Regina out, though, and she has her son on her arm when she knocks every afternoon, demanding that Emma look Henry in the eye and spend time with him. Henry takes his mother out into the backyard, to the hidden alcove covered in vines, and reads to her from anything. He flips through the newspaper and acts out comics or pulls out his laptop and shows her viral videos that are meant to make her laugh. She smiles, for him. Kisses his head and settles against his shoulder.

Her son is far too tall and much older than she remembers. He has to support her as she tiredly makes her way back to the house, sun blinding her and highlighting her deteriorating body. Henry thinks she will snap in half if she trips over a twig, so he takes delicate care of her. He hugs Killian when Emma is out of sight, crying softly into his shirt.

Regina cooks them a lasagna and leaves with her broken son. Killian helps Emma eat and packages up the leftovers before dragging himself upstairs into bed. She follows out of habit, finger hooked in his belt loop for comfort. He turns the lamp on her side to the lowest setting and collapses into the large pile of blankets.

Emma gives a soft half-chuckle and undresses him, leaving his boxers on and discarding the rest. She removes all the jewelry he insists on wearing before stripping down herself, Liam’s ring the only thing left on her body. She climbs in next to him and shoves him into a semi-normal position before arranging the blankets nicely on the both of them.

They lie next to each other in complete silence before Emma sighs, moving onto her side.

“Killian, come here,” she grumbles, arms going to him. He flinches, afraid that his skin will singe hers like it had in the Underworld, but eventually gives in, letting his embrace him. His head is on her bare chest and he can feel the cold metal chain against his neck. “Go to sleep,” she commands softly, pressing a soft kiss to his dark hair.

She is loving and yet so empty, her fingers and toes cold against his hot skin. Her heart thumps heavily in her chest and she stares blankly at the ceiling while a hand drifts through Killian’s scalp, chewed nails catching on knots.

“I don’t want to,” he whispers into her, small voice giving away the fear he feels at succumbing to dreams. “The Crocodile will be there.”

Emma’s entire body clenches, mention of the dead man sending her mind in millions of directions. She will never regret drowning that man in the River Styx, but images of her hands around his throat in the deep waters replay violently each day. Emma killed him and Killian was set free. That’s all that matters, she tells herself every day.

“He’s dead, Killian,” she reminds him.

Killian hummed, not quite believing her words, but drifted into unconsciousness soon enough.

She sighed heavily, continuing to pet his head. He’d pointedly avoided the library and pawn shop since Rumple’s death and Emma knew he felt responsible. One day she’d drag herself out of the house to Belle’s front door and beg forgiveness, but it was too soon. She’d yet to feel remorse, her Killian against her breast and family safe.

* * *

Months are gone and summer finally comes to Storybrooke. Emma lays out in the sun every day, prickly grass itching her skin. She is glad that her backyard fence is too high for any citizen to poke their head over and attempt conversation. Her mother’s presence is bad enough, the woman over almost daily with the baby that was now technically a toddler.

She is glad that Regina doesn’t attempt to introduce her to Robin’s daughter, the little thing still pink and gurgling. Snow fawns over her all the time and Emma has to wonder how Regina has kept from throwing several fireballs her mother’s way.

David refuses to let her back into the police station and so she is not talking to her father, something that makes a part of Emma ache. Killian attempts to make her see David’s good intentions, the pirate now a close friend of her father’s, but Emma is stubborn and wants to work so badly.

She wants to chase Storybrooke drunk citizens and numb her brain on paperwork, something to pass the days after she kisses Killian good morning and begins drifting around her house.

Killian burns his boat early into the season, setting it aflame and letting it drift into the open water, memories of his brother and Milah sinking into the ocean. He watches it go and weeps openly, wanting to swim after it and burn too. It hurts, gods it hurts so much, but he can’t keep coming back to the empty hull of pain to drink himself into oblivion.

Emma pulls him away after the flames are gone and pieces of wood are floating just under the surface. Her thin hand encircles his and leads him to their home. They don’t talk as much anymore, but it is not an uncomfortable silence. So much action brought them together and it is enough just to exist side by side, for now.

She can finally sleep at night, in their bed, and he holds her with the lights on. She’s lost far too much weight and is not as strong as she used to be, but Killian still kisses every inch of her and cherishes the other half of his heart.

He notices the swell of her middle first, tracing it after an evening of lovemaking, her soft stomach slightly rounded near the bottom. Killian understands the fundamentals of procreating and asks her about it, hand still rubbing circles around her bellybutton. Emma stills instantly, and Killian has to look up at her to know what emotion is on her face.

Her lips have fallen open and Emma stares at her stomach in shock, Killian’s hand resting against it. She bolts out of bed and pulls on articles of clothing, her lover right behind her. He calls her name several times as she descends the stairs and slips on a pair of shoes, flying out the door.

Killian decides that it’s best just to stay at her side as Emma beelines for the twenty four hour convenience store down the street from their house. She knows the clerk well, insomniatic trips for sustenance a recurrence, and flicks a hand at her in greeting.

On the way back home, with a box in her hand, Killian thinks she is crying. He tries to stop her and look into her green eyes, but Emma is persistent.

“We need to get home,” she says more than once.

“Emma, _love_ , please.”

Emma continues to march and they reach the white picket fence soon, their shoes clacking against the front steps.

He waits outside the bathroom door, waiting for an explanation. He almost resorts to checking Google but decides against it, talking softly to Emma through the door. She doesn’t say anything for a long time and Killian pushes into the bathroom.

Emma’s sitting on the floor against the tub and he joins her, left arm going around her shoulders. There’s a white stick with a plus sign and Emma’s crying, her hair pulled back. Killian is still quite confused but he can figure out at least what is going on inside his love’s body. Milah had been older and it had never been an issue.

“What would you like to do?” He asks softly, kissing her temple. She doesn’t respond for a time and he almost thinks that she hasn’t heard him, but eventually she starts to sob.

“I can’t,” she breaks and he pulls her against him, hushing the cries. “I can’t do it, not yet.”

“I know, love.”

* * *

She’s too far along for an abortion, they find out, Dr. Whale holding a file and frowning. Killian thinks his bedside manner needs reworking, but he says nothing as his Swan goes silent beside him. They learn that they must have conceived right after the Underworld and he finds it all too fairytale for his liking.

He takes Emma home and holds her in the hammock Henry installed in the backyard weeks ago. She cries herself to sleep as the sun sets, and he pulls a blanket over the two of them, waiting for the stars to come out. Killian has learnt them all since coming back and traces constellations into Emma’s back.

Killian wonders how five months of pregnancy can go by without notice, but he surmises that the two of them have been far too broken to be focused on anything else but their nightmares and each other. She’d spent a fair amount of time vomiting in those early days and Dr. Whale had explained that her monthly spotting was most likely a side effect of how much her body had changed. He hugged his Swan closer and kissed her crown, sighing into her hair.

Emma was somber for the rest of the week and hid her middle as much as possible, baggy sweaters and jackets hanging off of her anytime she went outside. Killian knew that Snow would go out of her mind if she found out and he hoped that he could lessen that blow before it came.

She told Regina first, the queen uncomfortable yet supportive, arms encircling Emma. She stays the rest of the evening, keeping Emma close as they blindly watched television. She frowned at Killian when he came to kiss his love goodnight, but he knew that Regina was harshly protective of her kin. Henry would know next, and ultimately Robin, but he didn’t want the town to make a large occasion out of the unwanted child.

Emma’s sleeping habits worsened again and she walked the house at night, fingers trailing noisily on the wallpaper.

There was one night when Killian woke and couldn’t find her anywhere, calling Regina and the Charmings to help look. David searched the outer woods while Snow walked around town with Neal in her arms, calling out her daughter’s name. Regina resorted to a locator spell and Killian followed it to their usually locked shed, dream catchers still hanging inside.

Emma was sobbing quietly on the floor, hands scratching at her chest and belly. There were red marks all over her, some pebbling with blood.

Killian approached her softly, kneeling in order to lift her into his arms. She whimpered and he kissed her brow, hugging her close. Regina was on the phone with David, telling him and his wife to go home, steps behind Killian as he carried Emma into the house. She set up wards to keep Emma in and friends out, magic ebbing through the walls.

“Only Henry, Archie, Dr. Whale, and I can enter,” she explained. “It’s best if Snow and David call before they come over.”

The psychiatrist arrived not long after and he spends hours in the study with Emma, Killian sitting at his telescope impatiently. He watched the sunrise and catalogued each colour, counting the minutes until his Swan was back in his arms. Regina comes with groceries, baby Hood wrapped around her. Henry carries bags in and looks around worriedly for his other mother.

Killian pays little attention and waits, until the study door swings open and a solemn Dr. Hopper exits, lending a small smile to Henry before walking over to Killian. He hands the pirate a piece of paper with his scrawl all over it.

“Emma is very afraid,” he explained quietly. “These are some things you need to do for her every day. Never hesitate to call me.”

“Thank you.” Killian’s voice caught in his throat, but he led Archie out before soaking in the words. He stood numbly in the doorway, Henry’s footsteps sounding as the boy went to his mother. Regina came to stand beside Killian, reading the paper over his shoulder. She pats the infant as she stirs and sighs.

“You have my number,” Regina told him quietly. “Make sure Henry gets home safe.”

“Aye,” Killian replied. “Thank you, for everything.”

Regina hummed before leaving, eyes flicking toward the direction of her son.

He joins the boy moments later, who is sitting next to Emma with her hands in his. They aren’t talking, but Henry looks tired.

“I’m sure your mother woke you up too early,” Killian interrupted, clapping Henry on the back. “Go up and get some sleep. I’ll come get you later.”

Henry nodded, hugging his mother before trekking up to his designated room.

“Love,” Killian prompted, kneeling so that he could find her eyes. He reached tentatively for her hands, ringed fingers gently clenching hers. Emma’s face was red and eyes wet, body slumped forward. Her curtain of hair was meant to hide her away, but Killian was low enough that he could see through it.

“Archie thinks that we should see Whale again,” Emma began. “Some pregnancies can be terminated this late if it’s completely necessary.” Her breath came in shudders. “I don’t think I can do this, Killian.”

“I know that you can do anything, my darling, but I don’t want you to suffer. If you don’t want this baby inside of you, make a decision. I will be right here, beside you, when you do.” He squeezed her hands and rose to kiss her softly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Emma sobbed against his lips.

Killian said nothing, only took her into his arms and held tight.

* * *

The baby is very small, born premature. She can’t open her eyes yet and Emma watches her through the plastic covering on the incubator. Her body felt so heavy the day before, and now the weight sits in front of her, too little and fragile.

She clutches Liam’s ring in her fist, tears on her face. Killian sleeps in a hospital chair feet away, hook replaced by his wooden hand. He stopped wearing it after they found out about the baby. It was tough building nursery furniture with it and he didn’t want to hurt the infant.

The last trimester had been less than pleasant, Emma’s fear of hospitals in full force anytime she had to go for an ultrasound or meet with Whale. His bedside manner didn’t improve at all and he did nothing to make her feel any more comfortable in the triggering sterile halls.

Henry slept over almost every night, Emma’s memories caught in her throat whenever she watched him leave.

Killian had held her while she told the story of her first pregnancy and Henry’s birth, and her pirate understood why she shook anytime labour was mentioned. He went to so many lengths to keep her safe and she smiled softly to herself, casting a glance back at his slumped form. He no doubt had the paper Archie had given him folded in his pocket, wrinkled and faded from constant folding and unfolding.

He’d been so good to her.

Regina had already come and gone, casting protection spells on Emma’s little family, hugging the blonde before making her exit. Emma couldn’t pinpoint the moment when the queen had developed such tenderness with her, but she was glad for the woman’s presence since becoming the Dark One and all that it had entailed.

She’d have to deal with her parents soon enough and Emma already felt tired at the thought of their loving gazes and unending hugs. She loved them, god, she did, but they were just so _much_ all the time and it was more than she needed. Snow would no doubt go into tangents about playdates and David would swear fealty to his new grandchild. It’d be an affair.

Emma had already fought them on a naming ceremony and baby shower. It wasn’t something she wanted. All she wanted was to go home with her family and rest. Live quietly for a change.

“How is she?” Killian mumbled sleepily, coming to Emma’s side.

“Pink and wrinkly,” Emma replied, leaning against him. He hooked his arm around her middle and kissed Emma’s cheek. The corner of her lips turned up in that way they only did for him and Killian sighed. “I just want to hold her.”

“I know, love. She needs time.” Emma hummed sadly and set her head on his shoulder. “How are you doing, my darling?”

“Everything hurts,” she told him truthfully.

“Head or body?”

“Both.”

“Aye.” Killian rubbed circles into her side as they watched their daughter sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Emma repeated, looking up at him. Her green eyes searched blue for nothing in particular. “I love you.”

“I know, Swan,” Killian smiled. “I love you too.”

_the end_


End file.
